


We Must Not Look at Goblin Men

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Norse Religion & Lore, Angst, Canon Divergence - Thor: The Dark World, Imprisonment, Incest, M/M, Mental Instability, Post-Avengers (2012), Sibling Incest, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-13 12:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2151456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Loki is brought back to Asgard as a prisoner, Thor commits himself to helping his wayward brother find the path back to righteousness. Rehabilitating Loki would be a difficult enough task even if he wasn't slowly losing him mind. Unsure of where to turn or whom to trust, Thor must find a way to save Loki from himself before his brother's madness consumes them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a canon AU WIP set directly after the events of the Avengers and is not The Dark World compliant. Some characters that have not appeared in the MCU have been borrowed from the comics. Any bastardized references to Norse mythology are made with apologies to Snorri Sturluson. Although this fic is marked Choose Not to Warn, later chapters will make reference to off-screen (sexual) violence; I will put a small note at the beginning of any chapter that deals with this issue. 
> 
> The title is taken from Christina Rossetti's poem "The Goblet Market" and the epigraph is from Kate Bush's "Running up that Hill." Feel free to contact me here or on tumblr (same username) if you have any questions, comments, concerns, etc.

 

 _"You don't want to hurt me,_  
 _but see how deep the bullet lies._  
 _Unaware that I'm tearing you asunder._  
 _There is thunder in our hearts, baby._  
 _So much hate for the ones we love._  
 _Tell me, we both matter, don't we?_ "

  

The man who stood before him wore his brother’s face; but he was not, as far as Thor could see, his brother still. On the surface they appeared the same, but on closer inspection too much had changed. The pale, soft skin of his cheeks had sunk and turned sallow like vellum left to rot in the sun. Eyes that once danced with mischief and delight were now dull, resting above paper-thin purple bruises that spoke of stress and sleepless nights. And his lips, which used to wrap so prettily around the cleverest words and the wittiest jokes, only twisted apart long enough to sneer or spit insults and bitter accusations.

But for all that this man who wore his brother’s face was not his brother, Thor still called him such. He went to the dungeons and stood outside the man's cell, separated by an invisible field of delicately interwoven spells. He called the man brother and asked him, pled with him for the truth. Always, “Brother, why?” or “Brother, how could you?”

If the truth was difficult to wrangle from his brother before, it was near impossible to wrest from this stranger, who only curled his lip and spoke in riddles if he deigned to speak at all. And yet still Thor tried, repeatedly, returning to the prisoner’s cell week after week despite the counsel of his friends and the quiet disapproval of his father, until one day as he was leaving, he said, “Maintain your stubborn silence if you will. I am not so easily disposed of.”

The prisoner who was both his brother and was not set aside his book and looked up, holding Thor’s gaze for the first time since he’d been brought to Asgard in chains. “I know,” he said. He licked his finger and turned the page. “I have tried already. Twice.”

 

*

 

“I don’t know why you bother,” Sif said, her eyes narrowing as she pulled back her arm and steadied her elbow. She let go of the bowstring. Her arrow cut through the air and struck the distant target in the center of the bull’s-eye. Smiling smugly, she turned to Thor and added, “Even if he’s as changed as you say, he was not a righteous man to begin. What he reaps, he has also sown. You must accept that, Thor.”

“You sound like my father,” Thor grumbled, grinding the toe of his leather boot into the rust colored dirt below them. “He has similar thoughts on the subject.”

Sif gave a shrug and pulled another arrow from her quiver. “The All-Father has great wisdom." She raised her bow again. “Listen to him, if not to me.”

“And then what?” Thor demanded. “Just give up on him without a fight? Concede that my brother is lost to his madness and leave him to rot in the dungeons? There is much to say for justice, yes, but what of mercy?”

Sif lowered her weapon. “You always were the best of us,” she said, almost sadly. “Which is why Loki will always get the best of you. You love him too much, while he cares not a whit for you in return.”

Thor glared at her, not wanting to hear sense in her statement. “He did once,” he insisted. “And can be made to do so again.”

“Honestly, Thor,” Sif sighed. “When has anyone been able to make Loki do anything but what he wills?” She shook her head and turned away, raising her bow again. “You are blinded to his true nature by your affection for him. You’re going to get yourself hurt. Again.”

She released the bowstring. Her arrow hit its mark. 

 

*

 

Every time Thor arrived in the dungeons, the sentries posted at the door moved to follow him down the dark corridor, and every time he waved them away. There was no danger here. He had faith in the integrity of the spells that kept the prisoners inside their cells, and even if those should fail by some miracle, he had Mjolnir at his hip.

But on this occasion, the guards hesitated at their dismissal and swapped nervous glances. “My prince,” one began hesitantly. “The prisoner--your brother, I mean--he has acted strangely this day. I would not advise someone of your import to visit without guard.”

Thor laughed and clapped the man on his shoulder. “I appreciate the concern for your prince’s well-being, but I assure you,” he said, wrapping his hand around Mjolnir’s handle, “I am never without guard. And besides, I am well-versed in my brother’s tantrums; I shall be fine."

Another unsure look passed between the guards before they lowered their heads in deference and faded away, melting like shadows back into the scenery of the palace.

But there was truth to their warning, Thor realized, as he approached his brother’s cell; Loki was acting peculiar. Normally, Thor found him reclining on his narrow bed with a book on his lap, or sometimes sitting at his small table, picking at a cluster of grapes that Frigga had brought to him. But this time he was on his feet, pacing his confines like a caged beast, muttering to himself. His table and chair had been upended; the torn spine of a book lay at the foot of the bed, its gutted pages littering the floor.

“Brother,” Thor said, drawing closer. “What troubles you?”

Loki’s head jerked up. He turned and looked at Thor. In an instant, he was at the edge of his cell, pressing against the barrier so that the spells sparked gold where his body pushed against them.

“You,” he spit accusingly. “This is all your fault! You did this, didn’t you?”

Thor had to fight the impulse to step backwards, not from fear but pure surprise. For months he had barely seen a flicker of emotion cross his brother’s face; now it was contorted into a near monstrous mask of unrestrained rage.

“I could not have,” Thor replied, as reasonably as he could manage. “I do not even know what has been done.”

Loki took a step back, his face untwisting. It settled once more into its normal apathy, though fire still burned in his eyes. He looked down his nose at Thor and opined, “Though your ignorance is legendary, your skills at lying are not. Very well, you had no hand in this. But Fath--your father--” he corrected, “is to blame.”

“For what, pray tell?”

“He has forbidden her,” Loki hissed through his clenched teeth. He began to pace the length of his cell again, growing more agitated with every pass. “It wasn’t enough for him to see me brought low, to see me brought to heel like the Jotunn scum I am. He wants me to grovel at his feet too, to beg his mercy and indulgence. He couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand that she would dare to show care for his failed experiment, to his pawn that refused to sacrifice itself.”

Loki stopped his rant and turned sharply, the frayed ends of his unwashed hair whipping around his face. The anger Thor expected to find in it was absent. In its place was an raw look of anguish. “He has _forbidden_ her," he anguished.

There was no point in playing coy. Though their father hadn’t mentioned any such decision to Thor, it was obvious to whom Loki referred. Loki had always had a special, intimate relationship with their mother, one that Thor had secretly resented in their youth. Their mother loved him too, he knew, but she had always doted on Loki, favoring him with sweets and private magic lessons and long, twilight walks through her gardens. And all while Thor had been expected to sit at his father’s side during tedious council meetings, his eyes glazing over as tax codes and jurisdictions and peace treaties were discussed at length. When Thor had been found ill attentive in these meetings, Odin forced him to memorize and recite histories so ancient that Yggdrasil itself was but a sapling as punishment. 

“Perhaps I can speak to the All-Father on your behalf,” Thor offered. “I might be able to change his mind.”

Loki tipped his head back. His eyes slid half-closed and his head shook, so slight it was nearly imperceptible. “It is a fool’s errand. And likely to get your visitation barred well.”

“Would that upset you?” Thor asked. "I had no idea you were so fond of my presence. I do believe this is the first conversation we’ve had in months."

Loki was caught, surprise registering on his face and his mouth working silently for a moment, before he muttered a surly, “No,” and turned away.

“Is there a message you would have me give to her?” Thor asked his brother’s back. “I could ferry letters between you two.”

Loki looked back over his shoulder, studying Thor suspiciously. “You would do that for me?”

Thor nodded. “And for her.”

When Loki turned around, his lips were pressed together in a line so tight he looked to not have a mouth at all. Finally, he gave Thor a jerky nod and said, quite curtly, “Tell her of your offer and return when you have a letter for me. Bring ink and paper with you so that I may reply.”

It was not a heartfelt expression of thanks, but Thor thought it would do for now. He left the dungeons that day, feeling optimistic for the first time in recent memory.

 

*

 

Torchlight refracted off the sharply cut jewels in Frigga’s hairpiece. They cast her in a shimmering halo as she walked arm and arm with Thor down the palace’s deserted hallways, the silk of her skirts rustling like leaves in a soft wind. Everything about her reflected her regality as she explained the circumstances and restrictions of Odin’s ban. That she was handling the forced estrangement with such grace and poise was as inspiring to Thor as it was puzzling.

“You do not seek to fight Father?” he asked, surprised. He had never known his mother to bow so easily to Odin's will. “You would abandon Loki too?”

“I will fight, but in my own way.” Frigga said lightly. “What, would you have me burst into the throne room, brandishing a weapon?” She laughed, and Thor could not help but chuckle at the image that made. “You are a warrior with a warrior’s heart,” she continued, "but you must trust me when I tell you that some battles are better fought with patience and diplomacy.”

Thor considered this to be wise counsel in general, and something he needed reminding of often. “And how do you plan to fight with your patience and diplomacy?” he asked.

Frigga smiled a curious smile and looked at Thor askance. “You will know when the time comes. The most important thing is that I let your Father believe that he has had his way for a time. He does so hate to be contradicted.”

“You think will change his mind then?” Thor asked. 

“Of course not,” Frigga laughed. “That would mean admitting fault in his judgement, which a king should never do. Or so your father believes.” She gave Thor’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Have faith, Thor. Your brother is not lost to either of us. Not yet.”

“You have seen it then? You know this story’s outcome?”

Frigga’s sharp look dulled Thor’s growing excitement. His mother’s gift of future sight was a rare and precious thing, but as unstable as the future itself. He knew better than to ask about it: if she spoke about what she saw, it would not come to pass. As a child, Thor had imagined that the universe itself would twist and bend as a result, reorganizing the very cosmos into a new shape so that an unspoiled future would be settled, and his mother would once again be bound to keep its secrets.

That was not, however, how she chose to explain it.

Once, when Thor and Loki were at that age stuck somewhere between boys and men, they’d sneaked off of the palace grounds and gone into the lower town, eager to see the kingdom they would one day rule. Disguised by Loki’s spells, they spent the afternoon strolling through the open-aired markets and eating food they could buy for a pittance off the back of a stranger’s cart. Once the sun went down, they'd followed a crowd of workingmen into a tavern and, for the first time in their privileged young lives, got raucously drunk. Unacquainted with the odd customs these simple folk referred to as ‘common courtesy,’ it took less than hour from the moment they sat down to the moment they were thrown out, bumped and bruised by the angry fists of a dozen men and one very insulted wench.

Odin, alerted to their brawl by Heimdall’s ever watchful eye, was waiting for them in the street, his steely, one-eyed gaze hidden beneath a travelling cloak. He dragged them back to the palace by their ears and promised a restriction so lengthy they’d still be on punishment when Ragnarök came. But all of Odin’s angry cursing was nothing compared to the bitter disappointment on Frigga’s face when they were brought before her.

“If you knew what would happen,” Loki had whined, picking at a bit of dried blood that clung to his lip, “why didn't you stop us from going?”

“I only see what is on course to happen,” Frigga told him. “But that course may change as people chose news paths. I had hoped you two would choose a different one and prove my vision wrong.”

Thor, who still had the vigor of battle and the smarting sting of a loss running through his veins, had yelled at her. “You should have told us! You could have prevented it all! We were humiliated!”

Frigga turned her eyes on him then, and Thor shrank from the brief flash of anger he saw there. “And then you would have learned nothing,” she said. “Let your humiliation be your teacher, so that you will not make the same mistake again.” The firm line of her lips relaxed and she added, gentler, “Even if I see disaster loom, I can and will do nothing to avert it. It is not my place to choose other people’s paths for them.”

Thor had hung his head and felt shame. His choices and his choices alone had led him to that dingy tavern and his much deserved defeat; it was unfair to push the responsibility onto his mother. It was not her duty to make his choices for him. And still, he wondered, was there any disaster so large, so devastating that Frigga might break her own rule? Surely, if she had seen any true harm come to them she would have been forced to intervene. No mother, no matter how principled, could watch her child walk into his doom.

And that was how, almost a millennium later, Thor still thought of his mother’s gift. She kept her visions secret so as not to interfere with the free will of those around her, but if she truly saw the worst come to pass, she would be moved to speak. She loved too fiercely not to. So if she said that Loki was not yet lost to them, Thor would believe her.

He had to believe something.

Frigga slipped her arm from Thor’s as they approached the door to her apartments. She took his hand in hers and Thor marveled at how small they were. Different forms of battle, he thought, for different forms of strength. His mother was a fine hand at daggers, but she was no swordswoman.

And yet, in many ways, she was still the fiercest warrior he had even known.

“Have faith,” Frigga repeated. She went on tip-toe and Thor leaned down so that she could brush a kiss across his forehead. “And find me tomorrow after breakfast. I will have a letter for Loki then.”

Thor kissed her cheek and waited until the door latched shut behind her. Sometimes a mother’s reassurance was all a child needed, no matter their age.

 

* 

 

Once, in Vanaheim, Loki had won a remarkably rare and exquisitely beautiful dip pen during a game of cards. The one-armed elf he’d won it off had boasted, as he tossed the pen into the betting pool, that the handle was carved from the horn of an albino Bilgesnipe. Thor, who had had a bad hand and had little need of a fancy pen, threw his cards down in defeat. But Loki’s eyes had flashed with covetous desire, and moments later he was dragging the winnings towards him with both arms. Thor accused him of cheating later, but Loki had laughed and claimed that he'd merely liberated the pen from an unworthy (and most likely illiterate) owner.

The pen was one of Loki’s prized possessions, and for years afterwards, he would write with nothing else. It took Thor nearly twenty minutes of rummaging through the many cluttered drawers of Loki’s writing desk before he found it, wrapped in silk and lovingly tucked inside an ornate box in the bottom drawer. Thor held it up, examining the smooth white handle and the sharp point of the metal nib, before he tucked it back inside the box with a bottle of fresh ink.

When he reached the dungeons, Loki was lying on his bed, his feet propped against the wall. There was a long, thick-stemmed flower in his hand, presumably from Frigga’s gardens. He pressed the petals to his nose and inhaled deeply; when he let out his breath, it was tinged with a sigh.

Thor cleared his throat. He felt uncomfortable, as though he were witnessing something private.

Loki craned his neck and peered at Thor upside down, but appeared unperturbed by the interruption. “Do you have a letter from Mother?”

Thor nodded and took to the small set of stairs that led to the platform on which the cell was built. “May I come in?”

Loki waved the hand that held the flower and drawled, “You are the prince of this palace. You do not need my permission to go where you please in it.”

If Loki was trying to bait him into an argument, Thor was not going to give him what he wanted. Instead, he pressed his hand against the barrier, testing its resistance as the spells illuminated at his touch. He felt nothing but the slightest shiver of magic against his skin as his hand passed through, so he took another step forward and was inside.

“I have never been in one of these,” he mused, looking around the small room with its windowless walls and modest accommodations. There was the small, uncomfortable looking bed on which Loki was reclining; the table and chair that had been flipped over yesterday; and a thin privacy screen that hid the toilet and a water basin from view. Besides a few of Loki’s personal effects, there was nothing else to speak of. “It is…” Thor began, trying to think of a word that could not be interpreted as an insult. “It is homey.”

Loki shot him another impatient, upside down look. “Put the letter on the table and leave. I’m not in the mood to listen to you jabber mindlessly all day.”

Thor set down Frigga’s letter and pulled the box he’d found in Loki’s room from his pocket. “I've brought you something I thought you’d like to have back,” he said.

Gingerly, he set the box on top table and stepped back, waiting for Loki’s reaction. He could never be entirely sure which way his brother’s mood would swing. Loki righted himself and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He stood and shuffled towards the table.

“Where did you find this?" Loki demanded. "Why wasn't it destroyed?”

“Destroyed?” Thor asked. “Why would it have been destroyed? It is rare and valuable, is it not?”

Loki set the box down. He straightened himself to full height in that maddeningly prissy way of his that meant he was struggling to remain in control of himself. “I see,” he said, his voice sharp and clipped. “It is good to know that Odin’s wrath was not exhaustive. How prudent of him to spare those belongings of mine that retain their monetary value.”

"What do you mean?” Thor asked. But Loki was already hobbling back towards the bed. “You don’t think that Fath--”

Wait, Thor thought. Hobbling?

And then Thor noticed it: the smear of reddish-brown across the white wall by the bed; the sticky red trail across the floor; the deep gash on the bottom of his brother’s foot as he settled himself on the bed and leaned over to retrieve a book from the floor.

"What happened to your foot?" Thor asked.

"My foot?" Loki repeated, looking down. "Oh, that. The vase Mother sent somehow got smashed. I appear to have stepped on a shard."

He shrugged as if it were no matter, but from the flash Thor had seen, the wound looked deep and painful.

"Let me see.” Thor hurried towards the bed and grabbed Loki by the ankle before Loki had the chance to object.

Loki made an aggrieved squawking noise and tried to wrestle free, but only managed to twist and turn, tangling himself in the bed sheets. "Unhand me," he growled, kicking wildly, but Thor ignored him, lifting Loki’s leg into the air so he could inspect the wound the closer. It wasn't as deep as he had feared, but the skin around it was swollen, pink, and hot to the touch.

"You need a healer," Thor said, letting go of his brother's leg. “This gash is ripe for infection.”

"I need no such thing," Loki hissed. He scrambled out of Thor's reach and hugged his legs to his chest. "I saw no healer when I was brought to this cell, and my injuries then were far graver than this paper cut."

In this position, curled into himself with his jaw set defiantly, Thor did not see a mad criminal or power-hungry tyrant, only his infuriatingly stubborn little brother. A little brother who would cut off his own nose to spite his face. Or in this case, rather, his foot.

"You need a healer," Thor repeated, in a voice that brokered no argument. It did not matter to him if Loki felt he was being overbearing; he would not see his brother's wound fester for nothing but senseless pride. "I will return."

Loki opened his mouth to protest, but Thor considered the matter closed. He turned away, ignoring the shouts of protest and inventive cursing that followed him as he quit the cell and made his way out of the dungeons. Saving Loki from himself was going to be a long and thankless task.

 

*

 

The infirmary was on the near opposite side of the palace, up three levels and in the eastern wing. Thor marched towards it, more determined with every step that he was doing the right thing. Loki could not be trusted to care after himself at this point; it was Thor’s duty as his brother to see him helped.

He burst into the infirmary with such force that the door crashed against the wall and startled a young woman in the middle of changing a patient's bedpan. The bedpan clattered against the floor, its contents splashing onto her skirts. She gave a shriek and jumped back, looking up to glare accusingly at the rude intruder.

That is, until she saw who the intruder was. The anger in her face smoothed over and she dropped into a curtsy. "Apologies, my prince.”

"I am the one who owes you an apology," Thor said with a grimace, trying not to look at her ruined skirts. "I did not mean to scare you."

She glanced at him briefly, then looked down again: a silent, humble acceptance of his apology. "What may we help you with?" she asked. "Your highness is not ill, is he?"

"I’m not here for myself," Thor answered, "but another. I was wondering if--"

He was cut off by the brisk arrival of another woman, dressed in the manner of a fully qualified healer, one of the matrons of the art. "I'll take it from here, Astrid," the woman said. "Clean yourself up and return to your duties."

Astrid shot the matron a grateful look and hurried away.

"How may we be of assistance to you, Prince Thor?" the woman asked. She did not lower her gaze once she'd finished speaking or display any manner of humility at all. That in itself was odd enough to catch Thor’s notice, but there something about her face seemed oddly familiar.

"I--" Thor stuttered, slightly thrown. He caught himself, remembered why he was there, and finished, "I need a balm or ointment of some sort. Something to heal a deep cut and ward off infection."

The woman nodded and turned away. "Follow me."

She led Thor into a room at the back of the infirmary, where hundreds of jars of various shapes and sizes lined the walls. "If you could show me the wound," she said as she pulled a few jars off the shelf. "I'll know better what to treat you with."

"It is not for me," Thor admitted. "The patient is...indisposed. But the injury itself is not so great, a cut but not devastatingly deep. I worry about infection most of all. If you could just give me the treatment, I can deliver it myself."

The woman paused and turned to look at Thor over her shoulder, appraising him. There was something about her gaze he found unsettling. 

She set the jar in her hand back on the shelf and reached for another. "Here," she said, handing it to Thor. "Lavender. His favorite."

Thor looked at the jar and then at her. "Pardon?"

"Loki always preferred the lavender-scented paste," she answered. "Unless whatever he's mangled himself with this time is a magical artifact, in which case he'll just have to deal with eucalyptus."

Thor stared at her, bewildered. Now, more than ever, he was sure that he knew her. But how?

The woman raised an eyebrow. "I'm not surprised you don't remember me, Prince Thor. We've only met a half-dozen times."

Thor tried to imagine her out of her healer's costume. From the wisps of hair poking out from beneath her cap, she looked to have a dull, brassy shade of dark blonde hair. Her face was pleasant enough, round and rosy, but her expression was severe and unfriendly.

"I'm sorry," Thor said. "I cannot say that I recognize you, though it is clear you know my brother and know him well."

"My name is Sigyn," the woman said. She waited, but when Thor showed no sign of recognition, she just shook her head and sighed. She turned away and began to replace the jars she'd pulled down. "How is he, by the way?"

"He has seen better days," Thor answered carefully. Sigyn. Sigyn, he repeated in his head. It sounded familiar...

"I've wanted to go and see him since his return, but as a private citizen of Asgard I do not have clearance to go to the dungeons at will." She sent a pointed look at the jar in Thor's hand. "As a healer, however, and with the express permission of the Prince..." she trailed off.

Thor felt lost and slightly irritated by that feeling. "Please do not think me rude, but how are you so well acquainted with my brother? Has he sought your healing arts in the past?"

Sigyn gave a little laugh and wiped her hands on the front of her apron. "That's one way of saying it. Sometimes I think I spent my entire childhood healing Loki's bumps and bruises, all so your father wouldn't find out what trouble he’d gotten himself into. I’m really only as good at healing as I am because of him."

And then it clicked. The woman in front of Thor was not a matron at all, but a maiden aged beyond her years by the drab but exceedingly practical make of her healer's costume. She was the same plain-faced girl who'd followed Loki through the halls of the palace like a shadow during their youth; the quiet, bookish one whose father had worked in the royal library; the one who disappeared at feasts and parties, staying only as long as was required for appearances' sake before slipping away without notice.

"Remembering me now?" she asked with a smirk so familiar it would have looked at home on his brother’s face.

Thor nodded, hoping to appear contrite for not recognizing her sooner. "I apologize. I did not realize you and my brother were still so close."

"We grew less dependent on each other over the years, as I dedicated myself to my arts and Loki to his own. But he is still very dear to me, and I would still like to see him if you’d allow it."

Thor could see no reason why not. There were not many in Asgard who thought fondly of Loki, and with Frigga now barred, Thor was likely to be his only visitor. The comforting sight of an old friend might go far in soothing his brother’s temper.

He handed the jar back to Sigyn and said, “I'd planned to deliver this now. Would you like to accompany me?”

Sigyn pulled off her cap and tossed it aside. "Shall we?" she asked, offering Thor her arm, a curious and amusing gesture if Thor had ever seen one. He slipped his arm through hers and allowed her to escort him through the infirmary. She was an usual woman, to be sure.

"I'm going to the dungeons for a little while,” Sigyn called the apprentice when they were at the door. “Don't let anyone die while I'm gone."

 

*

 

The sentries outside the dungeon raised inquisitive eyebrows when they saw Thor descending the stairs a few steps behind Sigyn, but said nothing as they unbolted the heavy wooden door to let them pass. Thor and Sigyn found Loki hunched over at his small table, his injured foot cradled on his lap. He was scribbling furiously on the paper Thor had brought.

"Back again so soon, brother?” Loki asked without looking up. “People will talk."

Sigyn cleared her throat. It was small, almost dainty sound. Loki's pen came to an abrupt stop. A moment passed before he dragged his eyes away from his writing.

"Sigyn," he breathed, springing to his feet. He winced and shifted his weight. "What are you doing here?"

"Prince Thor said you were in need of a healer and all of the other matrons resigned on the spot."

Loki’s face fell. Sigyn laughed and made her way to the stairs. She didn't stop to ask permission to enter, just tested the wards for a moment before stepping through.

"I am teasing of course,” she said, opening her arms to him. “It is good to see you again.”

Loki shot an embarrassed look at Thor, begging him to turn around and spare his dignity. Thor did not, and saw with surprise that his brother not only allowed Sigyn to wrap her arms around him, but returned the embrace.

Thor watched them pull apart, both puzzled and annoyed. Every time he'd reached out to his brother over these past months, Loki had snaked out of his reach, hissing and gnashing his teeth, cursing as if Thor had just tried to mount him. And now here he was, returning the hug of a woman who, until fifteen minutes ago, had been all but a stranger to Thor.

It was unfair, Thor thought. Loki was his to take care of, not hers.

"Come," Sigyn said, tugging Loki towards the bed. "Let me see what you've done to yourself this time."

Loki shuffled towards the bed. Although he huffed a bit and looked unhappy, he sat down beside Sigyn and allowed her to pull his foot onto her lap so that she may better examine the wound.

"Prince Thor?" Sigyn called.

Thor took a step towards the stairs, eager to be of help.

"Oh no," Sigyn said, holding up her hand to stop him. She gave a sweet smile. "I only meant to say that out of respect for my patients' privacy, as provided under the noble laws of Asgard, I prefer to examine my patients in private."

Thor froze, one foot upon the stairs, his mouth opening without a thought to push through it. He looked at Loki, who was staring back at him with equal surprise, until his expression shifted into a look of smug delight.

"Very well," Thor said, though his hands curled into fists. "Please find me when you finish your exam. I will be out in the practice yards." He didn't add, though he felt it heavily implied, that he was suddenly in the mood to hit something.

The hair on the back of Thor's neck stood at attention as he left the dungeons for the second time that day, Loki’s and Sigyn's quiet laughter following him down the corridor. It wasn't until he was passing the guards that he realized, he, Prince Thor of Asgard, had just been dismissed by one of his own subjects.


	2. Chapter 2

Fandral picked the practice dummy's decapitated head off the ground and tossed it onto the pile with the others. He gave Thor a questioning look, one blond eyebrow raised and the corner of his mouth quirked beneath his artfully styled mustache. "Is there something you wanted to talk about?"

"Nay," Thor replied. He stepped in front of the next dummy in the line and spun Mjolnir by her strap. Hitting things was preferable to talking about them.

Fandral shot a look at Volstagg, who merely shrugged and moved out of the way as Thor swung his hammer in a wide arc.

The burlap dummy exploded. "It is Loki that troubles him," Hogun said as straw drifted to the ground around them.

Thor gave Hogun a fleeting glare and stepped before the next target in line. "And what makes you think that?" he asked.

Hogun's grim expression never changed. He shrugged his shoulders and said, simply, "It is always Loki."

From the corner of his eye, Thor noticed the unsure glance that passed between Fandral and Volstagg and felt a trickle of shame. There was tension between them, one that didn't belong in the practice yard, and it was entirely his doing.

"I'm sorry, my friends," Thor said, lowering Mjolnir. "The situation with my brother causes me no small amount of grief."

"We understand that," said Volstagg quickly, ambling forward. "And we don't hold your frustrations against you; they are perfectly natural, of course. It's just that..." He made a helpless gesture towards the pile of burlap carcasses. "These take four hours a piece to make. At this rate, you'll leave none for the rest of us."

Thor opened his mouth to apologize again, but before he could get the words out, Sif appeared at the gate to the yard, shouting Thor's name as she ran towards them.

Sif was slightly winded when she drew up beside them. "Sigyn bade me tell you that she is in search of you at your request, and will be waiting by the stables for your arrival," she reported breathlessly. She took a moment to steady herself before standing straighter. She gave Thor a shrewd look and asked, "What business do you have with the likes of her?"

Thor, who had little love for the woman himself, was taken aback by the unmasked contempt that bled into Sif's tone. "She is a healer, entrusted with the care of my brother," he answered warily. "Why?"

Behind them, a quick burst of laughter escaped Fandral. Sif shot him a dangerous glare.

"With all due respect," she said, "I would reconsider that appointment if I were you. Bad things are fated to happen when those two conspire."

Thor wanted to push for further details, but there was something in Sif's defensive posture that told him to hold his tongue. He was unsettled by her warning, but nodded his acceptance of it anyway.

"I'm off then," Sif said, almost brightly, as if she hadn't just delivered a vague and ominous warning. "I just wanted to deliver Sigyn's message as well as one of my own; I'll see you all at supper tonight."

And then she was gone again, trotting towards the palace, her dark ponytail bouncing as she ran.

With Sif gone, Fandral struggled to suppress his snickering. Thor turned to him and said, "If you have insight into Sif's meaning, please share it with us all."

Fandral's smile faded again. "The quarrel between Lady Sif and Sigyn is an old one, stretching back to their childhoods," he said reluctantly, like a child asked to recite a times-table he'd yet to learn. "Surely you know the story of how Sif's hair came to be that bewitching shade of black?"

Thor nodded. It had happened before he had known her and called her his friend, but he knew the tale well. How could he not? It was his brother's doing. "Aye, but I do not see why my brother's trespass would be cause for animosity between those two."

"Thor," Volstagg interjected. His voice was polite, almost apologetic; it always sounded like that when he had cause to talk about Loki these days. "Who do you think told him to do it? Why would Loki care about the hair of a girl he didn't even know?"

Thor considered this question. "I had assumed it was just his usual mischief," he answered. "When Father punished him for it, there was no mention of another involved."

Volstagg shrugged, not meeting Thor's eyes. "Perhaps he didn't want to get her in trouble. The punishment for a commoner would be much more severe than for that of a prince. But everyone knows it was Sigyn who talked him into doing it; she was always jealous of Sif's beauty."

"She was a strange, spiteful little creature, even as a child," Fandral agreed. "I did not know her well at that age myself, but it does not surprises me that she and Loki took a liking to one another."

This was new, unsettling information and yet another reason for Thor to resent his brother's apparent fondness for the woman. That Loki would prefer the companionship of a harmful influence over Thor's own was an additional sting.

 

*

 

Armed with this new knowledge, Thor bid farewell to the Warriors Three and went in search of Sigyn. He found her loitering near the stables, gently stroking the mane of a knobby-kneed colt. She did not wave or smile as Thor approached her, but merely inclined her head and said, when he was near enough to hear, "Shall we take a walk?"

Thor followed her past the stables, towards the walking path that circled the field where the royal horses were allowed to roam. Thor's natural stride was much longer and purposeful that Sigyn's short, meandering one. She set a slow, dawdling pace that he struggled to maintain.

"It is lovely weather," she said as they took to the path. "Asgard is beautiful in the summertime, don't you think?"

"It is," Thor agreed, looking out across the field. It was a bright, warm day, with a cool breeze that rustled through the leaves and made the tall grass growing on either side of them dance in the wind. He rarely had the time to enjoy the beauty of Asgard in any of its seasons, but he was not in the mood to appreciate it just then either. "Forgive my bluntness," he said, "but I don't think either of us are the type for idle chatter about the weather."

Sigyn laughed, and the sound was surprisingly warm. "No, I suppose we're not," she said, making no further attempt to open the conversation.

Thor absently stroked the grip of Mjolnir's handle as he considered his course of action. He had much to ask Sigyn, but what first? It seemed tactless to come out and demand to know what had passed in his brother's cell after he left, especially now that he had reason to be suspicious of her character. He should try to learn more about her and her motivations first, but for that he would need to be indirect in his questioning.

"You know the Lady Sif?" Thor decided to ask first, as casually as he could. "She was the one who told me where to find you."

There was a small, almost imperceptible falter in Sigyn's pace. "I do," she answered lightly. "And I have for many years. But what you really want to know is whether there is truth to the rumor that I am to blame for Loki cutting off her hair."

Thor frowned. Had he been that obvious, or was she unusually perceptive?

"Well?" he asked, reasoning that since it was already out there, there was no need to dance around it. He'd try to be subtler next time. "Is there?"

Sigyn lifted her skirts as she stepped over a tree branch that had fallen into the path. "In some ways, I suppose I am. In other ways, I'm not."

"That sounds like something Loki would say," Thor muttered. "No wonder you two get on so well."

And there was Sigyn's warm little laugh again, a sound so at odds with the dark mood it inspired in Thor.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand our friendship," she said. "You and your brother were kept apart from the rest of the children who grew up in the palace. I only knew Loki because my father was head of the royal library." She sighed, the dreamy and distant sound of one whose childhood was long gone but not yet forgotten. "I used to distract my father, you know, so that Loki could sneak into the restricted section and read the dark grimoires banned to everyone but a select few scholars."

"Asgard thanks you for your contribution to its youngest prince's education," Thor said drily. "That turned out so well for everyone."

Sigyn stopped short. She looked at Thor, bewildered for a moment, before bursting into a round of surprised laughter.

"Apologies, my prince," she said, trying to hide her laughter behind her hand. "To hear Loki tell it, you are devoid of all humor and incapable of even the lowest forms of jest. You must imagine my surprise to hear such sharp sarcasm from your tongue."

Thor did not particularly care for people laughing at him. It irked him, but he forced his annoyance away as best he could and said, "Don't believe everything my brother says about me."

Sigyn shook her head and took to walking again, the corners of her lips still upturned. "I don't believe half the things he tells me about anything," she answered smoothly. "And I doubt that you do either."

"I don't anymore, but that was a difficult lesson to learn."

A more comfortable form of silence settled over them after that. They continued their easy amble around the field and Thor took advantage of the opportunity look at Sigyn askance. He wondered if he had judged her prematurely. It was just as likely she had nothing to do with Loki cutting off Sif's hair. How many times had the guilt for one of Loki's prank fallen on Thor's shoulders over the years? He should know better than to listen to practice yard gossip.

Thor thought of his mother and her advice about different approaches to battle. He should not think of Sigyn as a rival for his brother's attentions, but an ally in his brother's rehabilitation. But why she would want to help was a mystery that needed solving before he could trust her with so precious a task.

"Whatever it is you're wondering," Sigyn said, "you may ask me."

"You care for my brother." Thor winced the moment the words were out of his mouth; they sounded like an accusation. Still, he soldiered on. "Not many do. I cannot help but wonder why?"

Sigyn took so long to answer that Thor began to fear he'd offended her. An apology was on the tip of his tongue when she finally began to speak. "I didn't have any friends growing up," she said softly. "I had no interest in playing dolls or dress up, so the other girls had no interest in playing with me. There was another girl, a few years older, who didn't play with dolls either. She liked swords and everyone liked her."

"Sif?" Thor asked, though there could be none other.

Sigyn nodded. "I admired her greatly. I'm sure it was annoying to her, to have someone younger follow you around all the time, but I wanted so much to be like her. There was another girl around my age, Lorelei, who used to tease me mercilessly. One day, I overheard her talking about me when she thought I wasn't there and decided to confront her. That's what Sif would have done, I told myself. So, I mustered up my courage and revealed myself. Can you guess what I found?"

Thor shook his head, unsure where this strange tale was headed or what it had to do with his brother.

"Sif. She was one of the girls laughing at the jokes Lorelei was making. I was so hurt, I ran through the palace in tears and hid in the library. I must have been there for hours weeping, until your brother found me. We weren't friends yet, but I knew who he was; so when he demanded to know what was wrong with me, I told him. I told him all about how no one liked me and how I had no friends and that I'd overheard the person I admired most in the world laughing at me. He sat down next to me on the floor and patted me on the shoulder, quite awkwardly as I recall. He told me he knew how I felt. He had an older brother, he said, who was mean to him too."

Thor opened his mouth to protest, but fell silent at the final moment. He and Loki had fought as children, as all brothers did, but Thor had never felt it abnormal. He had no clue Loki felt that way, even then.

"He found me again the next day and bid me come to the library. He had a gift for me, he said. That was when he presented me with Sif's hair, cut off while she slept." Sigyn paused and stroked her own dull blonde braid absently. "He said if she wanted to tease people for being different, she should know how it felt first."

Sigyn stopped walking, forcing Thor to turn around to face her. She squared her shoulders and lifted her head, growing inches in her defiance. She was still much smaller than him in stature and build, but her presence filled the space between them. "It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me," she declared. "And I've never forgotten it."

Thor nodded slowly, processing her story. While he couldn't condone Loki's actions, or even the reasons behind them, he felt he could understand Sigyn's loyalty; maybe, he could even admire it.

It was clear she was waiting for him to speak, and based on her proud stance, she was expecting him to pass judgement. Thor decided to surprise her by saying, "My brother is lucky to count you among his friends then."

A moment of surprise did register on Sigyn's face, but she blinked it away quickly. "You are not at all as Loki described. Or even as I remember."

Ah, yes, Thor thought, she had mentioned earlier that they'd met before. He turned back in the direction they'd been walking, and when he stuck out his arm, Sigyn grudgingly took it.

"I am not the same man I was once," Thor said. "Or at least, I am trying not to be. I can only hope that I did not offend you gravely when we met in the past, and apologize for not remembering you now."

"Well, you were already deep in your cups on most of those occasions, so I suppose I can forgive you that. Although, the time you pawed at my rear like a savage beast deserves an apology of its own, I think."

This time, it was Thor's turn to trip over his own feet.

"You don't remember?" Sigyn asked. "No, of course you don't; it was centuries ago. It was during the harvest festival. Loki was forcing me to dance with him. He insisted it looked bad for an unwed maiden to not be seen dancing, and you, barely able to put one foot in front of the other let alone string two words together, decided that you wanted to cut in."

Thor felt his face grow warm. Ever since he'd returned from his banishment, reminders of his youthful excess were all the more mortifying. "I did not-" he began to say, but forced himself to stop. He must not make excuses, only reparations. "I am sorry for any offense my behavior caused."

Sigyn made a quiet humming sound and asked, "And did you ever apologize to Loki for it? If I remember correctly, you two fought."

"We did?" Thor cast his mind back over the centuries, trying to remember all the times he and his brother had come to blows, until he finally settled on a half-formed memory, broken by the fractured lens of alcohol. They had fought once during the harvest celebrations, right in the middle of a crowd. As Thor remembered it, it was one of the few times that Loki been the one to throw the first punch. What he could not recall, however, was the cause.

"If I haven't yet, I will. And if I have, I will do so again anyway," Thor said. He looked at Sigyn for approval and found that she was wearing a rather pleased smile.

"You Odinsons are so easy to train," she teased.

A bark of laughter escaped Thor unexpectedly. She was likely the first person to ever express that particular sentiment. If anything, it ran contrary to almost all popular opinion about the sons of Odin.

"Surely you are thinking of some other, imaginary Odinsons," Thor said, shaking his head. "My brother is about as easy to train as those wild horses he so favors."

Sigyn cast a look out over the field where a group of stallions were grazing in the distance. "A horse must be broken before it can be trained."

"You're not suggesting that we should try to break Loki first?" Thor asked, unable to stop from laughing at the ridiculous image of his brother with a bit in his mouth.

"No," Sigyn answered without humor to match Thor's own. "I'm suggesting that that's what you are doing already, whether you realize it or not."

Thor's laughter died immediately. He was trying his best to help his brother; he would never do anything to hurt him. And he would certainly not try to break him, no matter his crimes. But his brother had committed crimes, there was no denying that, and they could not go unpunished. That he had escaped the ax's singing blade was miracle enough in itself.

"Did he tell you this himself?" Thor asked, offended by her implication. "What happened to not believing everything he says?"

"He told me nothing, which told me more than enough." Sigyn paused, and when she spoke again her voice was low and serious. "He is changed, Prince Thor, though how or why exactly, I cannot say. Surely you have noticed this yourself?"

The ground crunched beneath Thor's boots as he considered best how to answer her. Loki was changed, in a more fundamental way than she could imagine. But the truth of his brother's origin was Loki's secret to keep or to tell.

"Aye," he said gravely. "But I know not how to remind him of the man he once was. I go and I talk to him, I tell him stories of our youth, of our adventures together, but it falls on deaf ears. It is though he is determined to not be that person we once loved anymore."

Sigyn made another thoughtful noise but said nothing in response. They reached the end of the circle, having rounded the entire field, in contemplative silence. When they arrived at the path that led back to the stables she stopped and pulled away from Thor.

"Perhaps you should try listening then, instead of speaking so much. Do not tell him who you want him to be; let him tell you who he really is."

"And what if who he really is a mad craven and a murderer?" Thor asked. "I should just stand by silently and watch his soul rot away? Is that what you suggest?"

"If you love him as you claim, then yes, that is what I suggest. If you cannot love someone for who they truly are, then you do not love them at all."

She made it sound so simple; Thor knew it was anything but.

Almost at once, Sigyn was all business again, as stern and matronly as she had been when they first met in the infirmary. "I will need to check his wound again in a few days, to make sure it is healing properly. I would also ask permission to visit him in the future, not just as a healer but as a friend." She threw her shoulders back and challenged, "You would not deny your brother a friend, would you?"

"I will tell the guards to expect you, and to let you pass when you please," Thor said. "I would not deny him a friend, no. And if he will not accept my friendship presently, I hope he will at least accept yours."

Sigyn smiled and said, "I'm not going to give him much choice in the matter. Now if you'll excuse me, my prince, I have let my post unattended for too long. Astrid has surely managed to kill someone by now. Sweet girl, but no natural talent for the healing arts."

She curtsied, her first sign of deference to Thor's station, and took her leave without waiting for a proper dismissal. Thor played her words over and over in his mind as he watched her make her way towards the stables, the long skirt of her healer's costume swishing as she walked.

_If you cannot love someone for who they truly are, then you do not love them at all._

In the end, he wasn't sure if he agreed.

 

*

 

Thor waited three days before he visited Loki again. He wanted to take the time to ruminate on his conversation with Sigyn. He decided it would be prudent to stay in her good graces. Even if he was not entirely convinced of her character just yet, her devotion to his brother seemed earnest. It would be good to have her as a comrade, and maybe she would be able to convince Loki that Thor's intentions were good.

Loki was asleep when Thor arrived. He was lying on top of his thin mattress, curled in on himself like a child with a belly ache. He made no move as Thor walked towards the cell and climbed the stairs.

"Brother?" Thor said softly. If Loki made no answer, he would return later. It seemed cruel to wake him.

"You didn't come back," Loki answered. His voice was awake and alert, and Thor realized he hadn't been sleeping at all. "You were supposed to come back for my letter."

"I'm sorry," Thor said. "I forgot."

He hadn't, not truly, but pretending to have forgotten was a part of his plan. He needed Loki to realize how much he needed Thor's assistance. Though he often thought himself to be, Loki was not the only tactician in the family.

Thor stepped through the spellcraft barrier and into the cell. He saw the letter sitting on the table, the parchment neatly folded with "Mother" printed on the outside in Loki's fastidious script. Ignoring it, Thor grabbed the chair by the table and dragged it towards the bed.

Only then did Loki turn, glancing at Thor quickly over his shoulder. "What do you want?" he asked sourly. He turned away. "Just take the letter and leave."

"I will take the letter when I leave," Thor said, "but first we must renegotiate the terms of our agreement."

That got Loki's attention. He sat upright and whirled around.

"You agreed to carry our letters. Nay, you offered to carry them. There's nothing to renegotiate because there were no terms laid out."

Thor made a show of settling into his chair. It was a technique he'd learned from Loki himself, back when Loki still sought to advise him on such things: make your opponent feel discomfort by demonstrating your own comfort. He only hoped he was doing if right, and that Loki wouldn't see through his clumsy attempt at manipulation. He hadn't much practice, after all.

"For every letter I carry for you," Thor said, "you must tell me something."

Loki's eyes narrowed. "And what must I tell you, dear brother?" he asked with a sneer. "Why I laid claim to your precious Midgard? Whether I am kept awake at night by the memory of those lowly mortals who begged in pain and fear for their lives?"

Thor swallowed. "Are you?" he asked lowly.

Loki's grin was sharp and feral. "No. The memory of their screams is but a lullaby to me, a soothing song by which I fall into a peaceful, dreamless sleep each night."

Thor felt his hand curl into a fist, but caught it in time and forced his fingers to relax. His brother was a spiteful liar. Thor would not, could not, believe that Loki spoke truthfully.

"Satisfied?" Loki asked, giving Thor his back once more. "Don't forget the letter when you leave."

It was yet another one his brother's tricks, Thor realized, designed to repel him.

"Falsities don't count," Thor said. "You must agree to my condition and then tell me something honest, something truthful about yourself. I care not what, as long as it is something I didn't know before." When Loki didn't respond, Thor licked his lips and tried again. "Do not tell me things you think I wish to know; tell me things you want me to know. Even if it is mundane as what you ate for breakfast. Please, brother, help me to know your mind."

Loki turned enough so that he could peer at Thor over his shoulder. Thor could practically see the wheels of Loki's mind turning behind his eyes while he made his calculations.

"Very well," Loki said slowly, "I'll accept those terms. What should I tell first?" He sat up and drummed his fingers against his jaw, making a spectacle of his consideration. A light flashed in his eyes and a slow, creeping grin spread across his face. "Oh, I've got it! Come closer, dear brother, this one is a secret."

Hesitantly, Thor moved closer. Loki shifted onto his knees and leaned in, until his lips were mere inches from Thor's ears. In a low, hushed voice, he whispered, "I have lain with your dear friend Fandral as a woman lays with a man."

An icy chill descended over Thor, prickling his spine; he felt the hair on his forearms stand. "Enough of your jokes," he snarled, pulling away. "Do you think me a fool?"

Loki's laugh was light and airy. "I do, actually. But that has no bearing on the truth I speak. Are you not pleased to know my secrets? I thought that's what you came here seeking?"

Thor studied his brother, looking for some subtle hint this was yet another one Loki's depraved games. He found none, but it was never easy to tell with Loki.

"When?" Thor demanded.

"The first time or the most recent?" Loki asked as he studied his nails; he sounded very bored.

Thor didn't answer, he couldn't bring himself to. His insides felt twisted. Confused. There was anger there, certainly, but something else as well. Something darker even than anger was building inside him, something he could not name.

"Or perhaps," Loki drawled, "I should just tell you about the time we were on that hunting trip to Vanaheim. You remember the one? You killed a wild boar with your bare hands. On the third night of that trip, Fandral crept into the tent you and I were sharing. He took me there on the cold, hard ground, just a few feet from where you lay slumbering. I thought for sure you would awake, my moans-"

"Enough!"

Thor's mighty roar filled the small space and echoed off the walls, but Loki didn't so much as flinch. "What's the matter, Thor? Does it upset you to learn your baby brother is  _ergi_? Are you really that surprised? The palace gossips have been speculating for centuries."

"Stop it," Thor growled.

But Loki didn't stop. He never did. He just continued on blithely, "Surely you must have overheard some mention, some rumor. Even you are not that blind to the world around you." He paused, leveling Thor with a smug look. "Or is it something else that sparks your anger? Is it jealousy, dear brother? Are you upset that it's Fandral I'll spread my legs for and not you? My, my, what a-"

"I said stop!" Thor thundered, and before he realized it, his hand was wrapped tight around his brother's throat.

A moment passed in terrible silence. They stared at each other, frozen in place. Thor could feel the blood pumping through his veins; his pulse pounding in his ears; a bead of sweat dripping down his brow. Loki looked not a bit cowed. If anything, his gaze was a challenge, daring Thor to squeeze harder.

"What distinctive tastes you have," Loki managed to wheeze. He gave a cracked and breathless laugh.

Thor relaxed his grip, allowing the air to flow back into his brother's lungs, but did not move his hand away. "Just stop," he said again, and there was a tone of pleading in his voice this time.

When he finally let go, Loki crawled out of Thor's reach and pressed against the wall.

"Does it shame you?" Loki asked. His voice was different now, and not just because it was strained and raspy from Thor's rough hand. The hubris had gone out of it. "Have I finally found the way to make you see that I am not the man you thought I was? That I never was that man at all? Was this really all it took?"

Thor couldn't bring himself to look at his brother just then. So he stared at his curled fists instead. "Is that what you're doing?" he asked. "Is that why you tell these lies?"

"I don't lie," Loki snapped. There was a pause, and then a little laugh. "All right, I do. But not in this."

Thor forced his gaze up. He forced himself to look at Loki, sitting on the bed with five small, purple bruises beginning to form on the column of his pale throat. "You are my brother," he said plaintively.

Loki's voice was cold. "I'm really not."

"You are," Thor said. Hearing Loki deny it only strengthen his conviction, and shamed him that he'd ever doubted it. Was this his lot then? To be cursed with a brother who was both mad and  _ergi_? If it was, he would bear it, as he bore the weight of his responsibility to the Nine Realms and to Asgard. "You are my brother and I will never forsake you."

Loki rolled his eyes and turned away. "Then you are the fool I've always taken you for," he said coldly. "Take the letter with you and don't return until you have Mother's response."

 

*

 

Accepting Loki for who he truly was, was a task easier said than done. Though Thor still had trouble reconciling Loki's murderous rage with the sharp-witted and cheeky boy he'd grown up alongside, he had had more time to think on that issue, to find explanations and excuses and thin reasonings for how this has come to pass. Madness, he believed, was the true villain here. The shocking revelation about Loki's true parentage; the desperate need to prove himself a worthy son of Odin in spite of it; the terrifying fall through the empty space between the realms: those were all things that could weaken even the strongest of minds.

But this new thing, this  _ergi_  thing, Thor had more trouble understanding. It was natural for a man to want to rut, and in the absence of women it wasn't unheard of for men release their burdens in the company of other men. But to choose to do so when there were women around? And to not limit it just to friendly hand, but to actually assume the role of a woman? To want to be the one who was rutted?

Could such a person still call himself a man?

Thor had seen them before, these  _ergi,_  slinking through the shadows of disreputable taverns across the realms. Some of the men of the older noble families were said to employ them as cupbearers and assign them private duties beyond the filling of cups; sometimes they even brought them to court. Thor couldn't say how he knew who they were when he saw them, just that he did. There was a look about these men, a manner of ways.

But Loki? Loki was not like those men. Thor had known Loki since they were both children and had never suspected. Of course, hadn't suspected Loki was a Jotunn either, but Loki hadn't even known that himself, so he had had no reason to hide it like he did this other part of his nature. Was it his nature? Thor wondered. If so, could he fault Loki for it anymore than he could fault Volstagg for his voluminousness or Frigga for her second sight? Loki had no more asked the Norns to be  _ergi_ than Thor had asked them to have an  _ergi_ for a brother.

But what if it was not nature at all and somehow related to his madness? Was it the cause or the effect? Were all  _ergi_  mad, or was Loki doubly cursed? People said that taking a woman's position made a man's mind weaker, but Thor wasn't sure he believed that, as he did not believe women were any more inherently weak of mind than men. Maybe the fault was not in the taking on of the woman's role, but in the rejection of the role which had been assigned by nature? But even then, that made little sense to Thor. Sif was a woman who took a man's role in battle and did not suffer from this crossing of boundaries.

These questions plagued Thor for the rest of his evening and well into the next day. He gave himself a ponderous headache and took his meals in his room, not wanting to be seen in such a brooding mood. When his mother's page delivered her next letter for Loki, Thor set it on his desk and turned away. He was not ready to go back to the dungeons just yet.

For the first time, Thor wished he knew an  _ergi_ ; he would ask them his questions in hopes of better understanding his brother. Perhaps he did know another, but only didn't know that he did. Thor had never known about Loki, so it stood to reason that there were other  _ergi_  around him that he didn't know about. As much as he wished it didn't, the thought unsettled him slightly.

But there was one person he knew he could talk to. The thought of it, of having to broach the topic, made Thor's stomach churn and his palms sweat. He didn't want to have to think about it, didn't want to have to hear the details, but he had nowhere else to turn. With a heavy heart and a much trepidation, Thor made his decision.

He had to talk to Fandral.


	3. Chapter 3

Thor found Fandral after supper the next evening, loitering in a deserted stretch of corridor with a serving girl. Her back was pressed against the wall as he leaned over her, toying with the ends of her long, unbraided hair. Thor watched Fandral whisper something into the girl's ear. She giggled in response and ducked her blushing face. So caught up in their flirtations, neither noticed Thor striding towards them.

"Good Fandral," Thor said, forcing false cheer into his voice. "I have need to speak with you."

Fandral didn't turn around. "Are you in need of me now, or can it wait until I've settled my currents affairs?" he asked.

Thor struggled to keep his voice light, though his patience was already beginning to wear thin. "I'm sure your current affairs won't mind waiting a little longer."

The girl peaked around Fandral. When she saw Thor, let out a little cry and wiggled free of Fandral's grasp. "My prince," she said, shuffling into a small curtsey. "Of course, I do not mind. The affairs of the crown take precedence over the affairs of the heart."

Fandral made a disappointed noise, but didn't argue. He took hold of the girl's hand and brought it to his lips. "I beg you to not stray far, my darling, so that I may find you once my business with our prince is settled."

With another pleased giggle she took her leave, shooting a coquettish smile at Fandral over her shoulder before turning the corner. Fandral watched wistfully as she went, obvious longing on his face.

"Could it actually be?" Thor asked, feigning surprise. "Has Fandral finally fallen in love?"

"Finally?" Fandral said, sweeping back a golden curl that had fallen into his eyes and turning towards Thor. "I fall in love everyday. Sometimes twice a day, if the maids are willing."

Fandral laughed, but Thor did not join him. He had no real care if Fandral laid with every woman in Asgard, but it bothered him to hear the word love, an idea he believed to be precious in its rarity, tossed around so easily.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Fandral continued. "I can see what you're thinking, plain as if it was written on your face. Doubt it if you will, but I love every woman I take to my bed even if it is only for one night."

"And what of the men?" Thor asked, the need for tact be damned. "Do you love them as well?"

There was a subtle shift in Fandral's demeanor: a slight tensing of his shoulders and hardening of his smile. "I do not know what you mean," he answered with perfect pleasantness.

"There is no need for denial," Thor said. "I know about you and my brother."

Fandral's stilted smile cracked. He turned away, bracing his forearm against the wall behind him. Thor would allow him this moment to collect himself, but he would not be put off. He had come for answers and would get them.

When Fandral finally spoke his voice was low. "He told you then, did he?" He whipped around and stood at full height, shoulders squared and chin up. "I meant no insult to you nor your family, I swear it on the roots of Yggdrasil. But you know how your brother is, how he plants ideas in your mind and makes you believe they are your own. And then, after that first time..." he trailed off, his composure crumbling. "I have never been known as one who easily wins the struggle against temptation. Even you must admit, Loki is quite--"

Thor held up his hands in a desperate attempt to stop him from continuing. "I do not seek details, only understanding. I wish to know my brother's mind, and if learning about these proclivities of his will help me know him better, I will set aside my reservations and expand my mind in new directions."

Fandral gave Thor a helpless look. With a quick glance up and down the hall to make sure they were alone, he leaned in and whispered, "If you really want to 'expand your mind in new directions' as you say, I can tell you of a tavern on the edge of the city. But promise me you will think this through before you go; this is not the time for one of your act first, think later strategies."

"Act?" Thor repeated. He did not wish to act, only to understand. "What action do you think to-?

Oh.  _Oh._  


Thor could not help it, he burst into laughter. What an absurd thought. Fandral was just as mad as Loki if he thought Thor intended to lay with another man! Fandral joined in with a nervous chuckle, but the air around him still crackled with nervous energy.

"It is not experience I seek either," Thor said, "only understanding. I know you cannot give me true insight into the mind of an ergi because you are not one yourself, but I knew not whom else to ask." Thor stopped as a chilling thought swept over him. Hesitantly, he asked, "You're not, are you? When you lay with men you maintain your proper role, do you not?"

Fandral looked affronted. He stood taller, puffed out his chest. "I most certainly do. And I do not-" his voice dropped, "-lay with men. Not as a general rule, at least. There has only ever been Loki, and even then, our coupling was not what I would call a frequent affair."

Thor took a deep breath, uncertainty overtaking him. He knew the question he wanted to ask, but wasn't sure if he really wanted to learn the answer. He'd hoped it was an isolated incident or two, the result of poor judgement or too much wine. That, he thought he could forgive, but he was unsure how he'd feel if he learned otherwise. Against his better judgement, he asked, "How infrequent would you say it was then?"

Fandral lowered his head and avoided Thor's gaze. "A few dozens times," he mumbled, but was quick to add, louder, "but spread throughout the last three centuries! Which is hardly any at all!"

Thor felt the air leave him as though he'd just been struck in the gut. A clandestine affair spread across three hundred years! He could scarcely believe it. How could they have kept this from him for so long? How could he have not noticed something was amiss between them?

When Thor didn't respond, Fandral looked up, peering at him through the fall of golden hair on his forehead. "My apologies," he said uncertainly. "But as I said, I meant no disrespect to the house of Odin. Loki was always willing. Quite willing. It was just a bit of good fun, a way to while away the time."

Just a bit of good fun? Thor knew the casual disrespect with which Fandral treated his female companions; the thought of him viewing his brother with the same disregard angered him greatly. He felt the muscle in his cheek twitch, though he hadn't realized he'd been clenching his jaw so hard. "And when was the last time?"

Fandral swallowed. His eyes darted back and forth, never resting for more than a moment on Thor's. "You don't really want to hear this, do you?" he asked, taking a small step backwards. "It's really not important anymore, is it? It's over now, anyway."

"When?" Thor demanded, stepping forward to close the distance Fandral had put between them. "And do not think to lie to me."

Fandral closed his eyes and sighed, his confession drawn out of him against his will. "During your exile, shortly after Loki ascended to the throne." He opened his eyes and added, "But you must understand, Thor, it was before I knew he was responsible for your exile! He summoned me to the throne room; there's not a man in all the realms who could resist the idea having the King of Asgard on his back for him. Loki makes-"

What Fandral meant to say next, Thor never learned. His hand shot out and wrapped itself around Fandral's throat, slamming him into the stone wall behind him. Fandral's eyes went wide and shocked; he gasped and spluttered, clawing at Thor's hands.

"Take care how you speak," Thor growled. "Ergi or no, he is my brother."

Fandral shook his head, or at least attempted to do so. "I meant no insult," he gasped.

A long moment passed before Thor could bring himself to release him. He stepped back, unable to look at Fandral just then. Despite his anger, Fandral was his still his friend and Thor did not want to hurt him. But he knew that if he looked up and saw any sign of the smug pomposity that usually graced Fandral's face when he spoke of his conquests, he might not be able to stop himself.

"You were right; I did not want to know," Thor said, turning away. From the corner of his eye, he could see Fandral rubbing his throat. "I apologize if I harmed you, but I think it best we not speak of this again."

"Agreed," Fandral said, his voice scratchy. He hesitated for a moment and lowered himself into a deep, uncharacteristically stiff bow. "My prince."

Fandral righted himself and turned on his heels, disappearing around the same corner the serving girl had turned just minutes before.

Alone in the corridor, Thor let out a growl of frustration. He was no closer to understanding his brother and had strained his friendship with Fandral in the process. He could only imagine Loki's reaction if he knew what Thor had done, that he had laid hands on one of his oldest friends. Loki would probably laugh uproariously and say it was entirely expected; he had always said that Thor was a brute.

Thor was working to change himself, to reign in his temper and become a man worthy of the crown he was to inherit, but for all his progress he still failed at moments. He did not want to be a brute. He was more than a warrior. He was a prince; a future-king; a good man. He knew he could no longer go around solving all his problems through violence, satisfying as it may be. But he was also learning that it was not so easy to change one's natural temperament.

So when his fist connected with the wall and the stones beneath his knuckles cracked, Thor decided he would tell the mason about in the morning. Until them he would put it from his mind.

 

*

 

Loki was sitting on the floor of his cell when Thor arrived, a small green flame waxing and waning in the palm of his hand. He had a look of supreme frustration about him: tension in the line of his mouth; his brow furrowed in deep concentration. As Thor drew closer, he noticed that his brother's hairline was damp with sweat and the hand that held the tiny flame was shaking.

When Thor said his name, Loki let out a cry of surprise and the flame blinked out of existence.

"It is good to see you practicing your magics," Thor said. "I was under the impression that the dungeons were warded against such things."

Loki flicked his eyes up to glare at Thor for a moment before returning his attention to his palm. The green flame sparked back to life for a moment, only to wither and die again. His eyes narrowed to slits as he stared at his trembling hand, but nothing happened.

With a huff, Loki clambered to his feet and began to pace. "They are against spell casting, but not all magic is a matter of spells. There are innate magics too, magic of the will, if one is lucky enough to be born with the gifts." He stopped and raised his hands to his face, carefully examining each in turn. "I happen to be so lucky," he added distractedly.

He must not have liked what he saw in his hands, because he let out an aborted growl and kicked the chair next to him. It crashed to the floor at his feet, where he kicked it again and again. "Magics of will should not be effected. Why can't I do it? Why won't it work?"

Thor's mind flashed with the memory of the day Odin had banned Frigga from her visits. He must intervene, and quick, before Loki upturned his cell once more.

"I have another letter from Mother," Thor said, leaping up the stairs. He didn't wait for an invitation to enter this time.

"What?" Loki asked, whirling around. "Oh. Oh, yes. Just leave it on the table."

Thor pulled the letter from his pocket, tracing to dull edge of the folded parchment with his fingers. "You forget our arrangement. You must tell me something of yourself before I can give you this."

Loki nudged the fallen chair our of his way and ambled towards the bed. "You said I had to tell you something for everyone of the letters you carry from me. You said nothing about the ones you carried from Mother." He flopped onto it with a great sigh and rolled onto his side. "Besides, didn't you learn your lesson about prying into my life last time? You think you want to know me, but trust me when I tell you that you don't."

"I think I know my own mind better than you do," Thor replied. "And it was obvious that I meant whenever I carried a letter from you or to you."

"Even if it was obvious, it went unsaid; therefore, it's not a part of the deal." Loki reached up and rubbed his eyes wearily. "How do you intend to rule if you've no understanding of that? I shudder to think of the treaties you will sign without thinking."

Thor righted the fallen chair and dragged it towards the bed. "I remember a time when I had no need for such careful parsing of language. I had a brilliant and clever brother who'd promised to do my thinking for me."

Loki dropped his hand and gave Thor a dull look. "That time has passed, Thor. No amount of-" he gestured between them, "-whatever you think this is will change that."

Thor smiled. "You underestimate my persistence."

"And you overestimate my patience!" Loki bit back. He curled his lip, but said no more, reaching instead for the top book on a pile by his bed.

If Loki thought reticent silence would make Thor go away, he was sorely misinformed. Thor was no stranger to sitting idly by while his brother read and pretended to ignore him. If experience had taught him anything, Thor knew it would only take about ten minutes for Loki to throw his book down in annoyance and engage with him again.

Thor looked the spine of the book in Loki's hands, but could not make sense of the title. His familiarity with runic languages was passable, but he'd never been interested in learning the more archaic ones. It had always seemed a waste of his time, especially if Loki could just translate them for him. Glancing at the stack of books, he saw that they were all unfamiliar to his eye.

"How did you come by these?" he asked, picking up one to examine it. The paper inside was heavy and yellow with age, the ink of its handwritten content beginning to fade. "I don't believe they were here last time I visited."

Loki snatched the book from Thor's hand, snapping it shut and tossing it out of his reach. "If I am to while away eternity in this cage, the least I can do is keep my mind sharp. Sigyn brought them for me. Bad things can happen to an undisciplined mind."

Something pulled tight in Thor's stomach. Even though he knew Sigyn's visits were in Loki's best interest, he did not care to think of her bringing Loki books, of her caring for and doting on him when Thor was not around to see. He felt a creeping sense of failure that he had not thought to bring Loki books himself. He, who'd spent the last days agonizing over the inner workings of his brother's mind, hadn't once stopped to think about what he might do to improve them.

"Whatever you're doing, stop before you hurt yourself," Loki said, not looking up from the page.

"I was only thinking-"

"Well, there's your problem."

"-about Sigyn and how much she seems to care for you. Does she know the truth about you?"

Loki's jaw tensed. "And what truth would that be?" he asked coldly.

Thor huffed; he didn't want to have to say it. He dropped his voice low and said, "That you're ergi."

Loki stared at him blankly for a moment before he threw his head back and laughed. It startled Thor, who hadn't heard his brother laugh so heartily in ages.

"Oh, that? Of course, she does," Loki answered, shaking his head. "She's known for centuries."

The tightness in Thor's belly deflated; the whole of him felt as if it had just caved in. It stung to know that Loki would share such secrets with others, but not him. "Who else knows?"

Loki returned his attention to his book, still smiling to himself. "Why should that matter?"

"Because I wish to know whom else you deem worthy of sharing your secrets, if not me, the blood of your blood!" Thor snapped, unable to quell the rising tide of his temper.

"But you're not the blood of my blood," Loki said, lip curling. "Are you?"

"But you didn't know that!" Thor shouted, his voice ringing in his ears. The crest of his anger was crashing over him and brought with it the sensation of drowning. How long had his brother hated him? How deep did his resentments go? And, most importantly, how could Thor have never expected it? He felt both a fool and a child, but it didn't change the fact his feelings were hurt, his ego bruised. "You did not know, and still you chose not to share your true self with me!"

"I don't belong to you!" Loki yelled, surging forward. "I don't owe you my secrets! I never have!" He crowded Thor's space, got in his face until they were almost nose to nose. "You are just like Odin," he said with a sneer. "You think I am some dog to lay at your feet, some pet to come when you call. But I'm not, Thor. I refuse to be that person anymore."

Thor could feel himself shaking. He looked into his brother's eyes and saw his own smarting anger reflected back at him. He wanted to do something, but he knew not what. There was some thing building inside of him, something ineffable that made him tremble, but without words to give it voice he only felt frustrated and impotent.

He stood up sharply, knocking the chair over in his haste. Loki shrunk back on the bed, bitter malice still glittering in his eyes as he watched Thor pace.

"You were never that," Thor said, "not to me." He stopped and turned towards Loki. "Why do you fight me thus if we are not truly brothers? Have we not fought like this a million times before, only to make up and heal the wounds we each inflicted?" He could hear the pleading, almost desperate tone in his voice, but he wouldn't have hidden it even if he could have. Even a liesmith like his brother could appreciate such naked honesty. "Can you not see that my only care is for you? That I have always cared for you and will continue to do so until my heart beats its final beat? And after that even! I will still love and care for you and call you my brother when we are but spirits in Valhalla!"

Loki was not moved; he laughed a bitter laugh. "Such pretty words, Thor. Have you ever considered becoming a bard? Such pretty, naïve words. Besides, you know there is no place for a man like me in Valhalla. I am as destined from Hel as you are for the throne."

Thor's hands curled into fists. "You miss my point."

"No," Loki said, "I just chose to ignore it."

Thor had to take three large, steadying breaths; the urge to hit his brother was strong. "Why must you always be like this?"

"Like what?" Loki asked, affecting an air of innocent confusion. "Like myself?"

"This is not you," Thor said firmly. "There is some sickness inside of you. Whether in your mind or your heart, I know not. Maybe both. But sickness can be cured and I swear to you, here and now, that I will see you made better."

Something strange settled on Loki's face, something akin to pity. He sighed. "For your own sake brother, do not. If you have any love for me, you will not set yourself on this fruitless quest. It will undo you. I will undo you. Please, do not force my hand."

Maybe it was the resignation in his Loki's voice, but Thor's anger flowed out of him as swiftly as it came. The lack of it left him bereft. He stared into his brother's face, but found nothing to give him hope.

"I can't do this right now," he said, turning away. He was fleeing like a craven, he knew, but he was not used to this feeling of defeat. "I will come again, I promise."

The only sound that followed him through the dungeon's dark corridor this time was the quiet patter of his own footsteps.

 

*

 

Thor had never been the melancholy sort. While his brother had spent weeks at a time locked away in his chambers when he was in a mood, Thor had never suffered the same colicky bouts of distemper. He was as quick to forgive as he was to anger and more likely to laugh off misfortune than stew in it. If someone or something displeased him, he ignored it, or else smashed it with his hammer. When problems arose that he could not beat into submission, he sought the counsel of his friends and family, and if they were no help, he found wisdom in the bottom of his drinking horn.

The melancholy that overtook Thor in the following days was unfamiliar in both its depth and its persistence. He tried to distract his troubled mind with training, but found he had little desire to spar. He tried to listen to the tales of his fellow warriors' glorious exploits in battle, but their stories were dull, repetitive, and mostly embellished lies. The sweetest mead was but water to him, and Asgard's most succulent dishes tasted like ashes in his mouth. He took no pleasure in the company of his friends and found his temper growing shorter and shorter whenever they asked him his mind. So instead of inflicting his sour mood on anyone else, he retreated to the privacy of his chambers. It was there that he realized that melancholy was frightfully dull.

On the morning of his third day of his self-imposed exile, a page knocked on his door. Thor cracked the it open and peered through the slit, not wanting a servant to see him in his unwashed night-clothes. The page slipped a folded pieces of parchment into Thor's hand and bowed low. Without a word, he was gone.

The note was from his mother, bidding him to join her for breakfast. There was nothing Thor wanted to do less, but he could not refuse a direct request from his mother. He bathed quickly, pulled on a clean pair of leggings and a tunic, and went to his mother's apartments.

Frigga was sitting at her loom when he arrived, weaving an intricate patterned piece of cloth. She looked up at the sound of the door shutting behind him and smiled warmly. She dismissed her handmaidens and rose from her stool.

"My son," she said, opening her arms to him. Thor stepped forward and into her hug. It was only after her arms had wrapped around him that he realized how desperately he'd needed it. "Come," Frigga said gently, taking his hand. She led him onto the balcony and towards a small table, overflowing with fresh fruit, cheese, and bread. "Eat, Thor, you are looking pale."

Thor picked at a few berries while Frigga prepared their tea. He knew she had called him here for a reason, and he had a growing feeling he wouldn't like whatever it was she had to say.

When the tea was finished brewing, Frigga lifted her cup. "I have not received a response yet from your brother," she said, watching Thor over the rim. "Any ideas as to the reason for his silence?"

"I thought it best I not visit for a few days," Thor said with a grimace. "I think we both need some time apart."

"You quarreled?" Frigga asked. Then, "Oh, but of course you did. That's all you two have ever done." She took a sip of her tea and continued, "But your brother is not why I wanted to speak with you this morning, at least not directly."

"Oh?" Thor asked, feeling the knot of dread in his belly unfurl slightly. "What about then?"

"About weddings, actually. Specifically the wedding of Queen Freya of Vanaheim."

Thor relaxed with a huff of laughter. He didn't know what he had expected, but royal gossip was not it. Queen Freya's upcoming nuptials had the entire realm in a tizzy, speculating on the nature of her groom-to-be and how her brother and co-monarch, King Freyr, was taking the news of her engagement. By all accounts, it was not well. "Are you sure I'm the one you wish to speak with? I'm sure the noble ladies of Asgard would be better versed in such topics."

"Were I interested in discussing floral arrangements, they would be. But none of Asgard's ladies, no matter how loyal, can attend the wedding as the official representative of the Asgardian royal family." Frigga set her tea aside and leaned forward. "I must ask you to go in your father's and my stead. You will present our gifts, you will accept their hospitality, and you will bring honor to your father's name in our absence."

Thor barely noticed the juice from the crushed berries in his palm as it ran down his forearm. He stared at his mother, aghast. "But why?" he asked. "You and Father have been looking forward to this trip for months, and I know nothing about weddings!"

"Perhaps it's time to change that," Frigga said, the steadiness in her voice contrasting the growing pitch of Thor's. "Times have been difficult for all of us since your aborted coronation, but we must try to return to a sense of normalcy, if we can."

Thor opened his mouth to argue, but Frigga cut him off. "Your father and I have already discussed it. We have decided it will be good for you to attend. I would rather you see it as a proud service to your family, but if you refuse, your father is willing to order your attendance as your king."

Thor reached for the cloth napkin by his plate and wiped off his purple-stained hand. "I have faith in your and Father's wisdom, but I do not understand it. What good do you expect this will do for me?"

Frigga studied him for a long moment with sadness in her eyes. "I already have one son in the dungeons, I will not have another who builds a prison for himself in his grief," she said. "Go to Vanaheim; take pleasure in their festivities, in their wine and their women; give yourself the time away you said you needed." She reached out and placed her hand on top of Thor's. "I know you love your brother, Thor, but there is a world outside of these walls."

Thor stared at her hand on top of his and absorbed her words. Maybe it was a good idea after all. He had never attended a royal wedding before, but he would be expected to do so once he ascended to the throne. With the exception of a few colorful days on Midgard and the annual hunting trips into the unspoiled wilds of the other realms, he hadn't spent any significant time outside of Asgard.

And the time away from Loki, away from his near constant thoughts of Loki, would do him good as well. Perhaps distance, as well as time, was required to gain his much-needed perspective.

Thor sighed and shook his head, unable to stifle the laugh building in his chest. He already felt lighter, freer. He turned his palm over and grasped his mother's hand. "You are right," he said. "I was wrong to question your wisdom. I will be honored to attend Queen Freya's wedding as the representative of Asgard."

Relief flooded Frigga's face. She jumped to her feet and pressed a kiss to Thor's forehead. "Good," she said, stepping back. "Because you leave in two days."


End file.
